Not about us, without us—unless…

When are we empowering somebody’s voice versus putting just one more thing on their plate?

If a single word encapsulates the social sector’s scurry away from the we-know-best, swoop-in-and-save-’em culture that reigned until this past decade, it’s voice.

Last year, the Gates Foundation awarded grants to local organizations that “engage Latino communities and amplify their voices.” In the past two years, the Urban Institute published a nebulous how-to primer called Community Voice and Power Sharing Guidebook while the Aspen Institute published a guide for Centering Worker Voice in Employer Engagement and Program Design. Most organizations that I’ve worked with professed a commitment to amplifying, elevating, or empowering voices in their storytelling work. The working assumption is that if the social sector listens to “the community,” we will map out an organizational narrative that leads to more equitable outcomes. This is particularly true when it comes to organizations that are founded or led by people who don’t reflect the people they serve.

But recently, I participated in a panel where the facilitator pointed out that the act of sharing their perspectives often requires community members to engage in difficult emotional labor. He asked: “How do we hear their stories without placing too much of a burden on marginalized groups?”

It seems like a Catch-22, and I think the real question is: when are we empowering somebody’s voice versus just putting one more thing on their plate?

The impact of voice

I first heard the catchphrase not about us, without us in relation to the children’s animated television series, Molly of Denali, which premiered during my first year working in public media. Not only was Molly the first nationally distributed children’s show featuring an indigenous protagonist, but also its production crew included over sixty Alaska Native, First Nations, and Indigenous writers, musicians, voice actors, and cultural advisors—a significant shift from industry inclusivity standards, by which a couple cultural advisors suffice.

Not about us, without us became an organizing catchphrase in the nineties, when South African disability activists argued that people with disabilities should be involved in making decisions that impact their lives. With Molly, involving community voices meant expanding authorship and creatorship, leading to a kickass show that its executive producers acknowledge would have been completely different otherwise. But most of the time, when we talk about including voices in the social sector, we’re talking about neither decision-making nor co-creation, but instead about getting input—via surveys, focus groups, advisory boards, etc.

Some would argue that soliciting input—or, in other words, using community voice in an advisory capacity—is insufficient for real inclusion because of the obvious power imbalance between advisors and authors. I agree in theory, but also have worked in the sector long enough to realize the very real financial, structural, and time constraints that can render authentic co-creation inefficient or untimely or unfeasible. Comparisons aside, advisory voices still offer significant value—if the advice isn’t just left on the table.

Until recently, I used to solicit my toddler’s input: “What would you like to do? What do you want for your snack?” These were pretty safe questions when his vocabulary was limited to the words that my husband and I repeatedly emphasized—i.e. book, ball, bike, milk, apple. I got to feel like a rockstar mom who encourages self-direction, while still landing on an activity and snack that I would have chosen anyway. Alas! Toddlers are sponges and eventually pick up words that have not been drilled into them. In December, mine picked up two new faves, which he obstinately chanted in response to all queries: “TV! Cookie! TV! Cookie!”

“No TV,” I’d say, firmly. “How about we read a book? No cookies. How about an apple?” And my toddler threw a terrific tantrum, fairly punishing me for pretending to care about his opinion when I was never going to turn on the TV and had already sliced his apple.

I’ll admit that this metaphor is flawed, because most of the people for whom the social sector designs solutions are not toddlers. But the salient points still hold: the practice of soliciting input only drives more equitable outcomes when the input is actually taken into account. In contrast, the practice of soliciting input when there is no real intention of changing course promotes inequity, because it wastes people’s time and expertise—and can cause a good deal of justifiable frustration.

I’ve since done away with blue-sky questions and now offer my tot a choice within narrow parameters: “Do you want to go outside or color? What kind of fruit do you want for your snack?” But in the social sector, instituting similar parameters means that we are open only to tweaking the details and unwilling to change our organizational narrative. For example, how much can a public library really advance equitable outcomes by asking patrons, narrowly, “What kind of books would you like to see added to our collection when we expand our building?” when the community actually wants more computers, pop-up health clinics, and a larger community room for afterschool tutoring and adult education?

🤔What is the potential impact that these community voices have on who we say we are and what we do? Or, is our narrative mostly already set in stone?

The criteria for voice

Community voices or diverse voices is usually code for the voices of people belonging to demographic groups that have been historically marginalized in decision-making. For example, organizations commonly recruit BIPOC and LGBTQ employees to sit on equity task forces and diversity councils. School districts commonly recruit parents and students to participate in co-design workshops before launching a new initiative or curriculum.

When we grandly agree that community voices will drive equitable decision-making, we ignore the fact that “the community” is not a monolith, but made up of widely diverse subgroups and individuals with widely disparate perspectives, some of which might not fit neatly within the parameters of an organization’s cultural and political views. (Check out this thoughtful piece by my college roommate and the founder of Ethena about how Harvard University’s DEI efforts felt exclusive of certain marginalized groups in the campus community, including military students and Catholic students.)

Several times, a director has pulled me aside before I’ve facilitated a storytelling workshop for their organization to warn, “Justin is a huge naysayer, and can really interrupt the group momentum, so you’ll need to manage that,” or on the flipside, “Alina can really steer this group in the right direction, so you’ll want to make sure to emphasize her points.” Or, they’ll say. “Veronica has some abrasive opinions, so you might need to course correct after she talks.” In the first and second case, they’re telling me that they want a particular community voice to drive their narrative. In the third case, they’re telling me that they’re already attached to a certain narrative about equity, and they don’t welcome any community voices that conflict with that narrative.

🤔Do we have any criteria for which community voices should count?

The cost of voice

I’ve participated on the diversity, equity, inclusion council of every organization I’ve worked for in the past decade. Each of those organizations has also recruited me to participate on hiring panels, mostly, I suspect, because they wanted representation from a woman of color. All of this took time and effort outside of my actual job description. On the flipside, I’ve worked with countless organizations that recruit community members to volunteer for focus groups, co-design workshops, task forces, advisory groups, and storytelling workshops.

We’ve got this unspoken idea in the social sector that, because involving community voices is the right and just thing to do, everybody should be happy to make the effort. Sometimes, we even think that we’re doing people a favor or bestowing an honor when we ask for their input. The reality is that we are extracting a cost from people when we ask them to share their voices. We are asking them to give up time and expertise, rearrange their schedules, find transportation, and organize childcare. Sometimes we don’t just ask them to answer surveys, but ask them to share their stories—and painfully bare their souls in the process, as that panel facilitator pointed out.

These costs are unavoidable, but we have a responsibility to alleviate them as much as possible. Last year, I worked with a Cleveland coalition on a yearlong community storytelling project to inform the development of the city’s new Children’s Cabinet. Rather than requiring community members to come downtown from all over the city to participate in workshops, we rotated the workshops through various neighborhood public recreation centers. The coalition provided meals and on-site childcare during the workshops, and each participant was compensated for their time with a gift card to a local grocery store.

🤔What are we asking people to take on their plate by participating? How are we alleviating that cost?

Better, not more just

The decision of whether or not to involve community voices should come down to the balance between impact, criteria, and cost. We can learn a lot about how to navigate this balance from the for-profit sector.

I respond to most Amazon surveys. Partly, I have faith that Amazon will use my input as a Prime member (criteria) to improve their customer experience down the line (impact); it’s in their best interest as a company. Mostly, I do it because the surveys are pretty quick and I get a gift card for my efforts (cost).

Ultimately, the social sector needs to move away from the rationale that we should involve community voices because it is morally just, because then like any other pious exercise, it becomes routine and burdensome rather than purposeful. Instead, we should listen to community members and compensate them for their insights, because doing so makes our organization and our work better.

Photo by Jon Tyson on Unsplash